


Angeles

by Incog_Ninja



Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Actor RPF - Freeform, Beards (Facial Hair), Cunnilingus, Doggy Style, F/M, Go forth and enjoy, Hotel Sex, Let's pretend he's single, Light Angst, Neck Kissing, No kink judging, One Night Stands, Or not, POV Second Person, RPF, Shameless Smut, Smut, This is fic, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, he also likes the back of your neck, he fingers you in the back of a limo, real person fiction - Freeform, slightly rough sex?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 04:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14762705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Incog_Ninja
Summary: I woke up this morning with the beginning paragraph ringing in my mind and the mental imagery to boot."It started with being in the same place at the same time, friends in common, similar interests in music and movies. Then you touched his knee and laughed when he said something funny – and the look in his eyes left you hot and shivering."





	Angeles

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

It’s late at night or early in the morning – you’re not entirely sure, but you’ve been with him for hours. It started with being in the same place at the same time, friends in common, similar interests in music and movies. Then you touched his knee and laughed when he said something funny – and the look in his eyes left you hot and shivering.

 

Now you’re on your back, buried in plush pillows and rich white cotton, breathless, his mouth is on your cunt, tongue inside, slow and thick and wet, twisting. He really uses his whole beautiful face in the process of getting you off, brushing and pressing your clit and holding your eyes with his, neatly trimmed beard chafing your delicate skin in the most pleasing way.

 

You once had a boyfriend who loved giving head. He did it every time he got you naked and he was really good at it. It always left you feeling dreamy, liquid, loved.

 

What this man is doing to you right now makes you feel like you’re being devoured from the inside out, like you’re his prey and he’s ravenous, like you’ll be utterly exhausted of all resources when he’s done.

 

He pushes a finger inside you and you grip a handful of his soft, thick hair. His tongue is flat against your clit as he pushes another finger inside and thrusts, curling, repeatedly, slowly. The puffs of air against your wet skin make you tingle everywhere and the sound of his breath is lewd and erotic. When he slides a third finger inside, you’re fully occupied, and his fingertips rub and press that spot. He presses his flat tongue on your clit, rotates it, then takes you between his full wet lips and pulls.

 

Your knees bend and your hips arch and you’re coming hard. “Ahh, fuck,” you gasp and your breath keeps coming in grunts for moments afterward.

 

He slowly pulls his fingers from your body, moves to his knees, swipes a hand over his beard and licks his lips with a smack. He caresses your weak, open thighs and watches you beneath him with a look that you can’t place. You don’t want to place it, don’t want reality in this moment, don’t want anything but to physically feel him.

 

You sigh heavily, finally recovering your breath, and reach for him. “Such a good boy, cleaning your plate,” you say, and his grin is so bright as his chest puffs with pride before he settles over you, balancing on his forearms.

 

“I try to be thorough,” he says, brushing kisses against the thin, delicate skin of your throat.

 

He’s hard, just as he has been since you left the bar. You tried to go down on him in the limo, but he wouldn’t let you. Instead, he kept his eyes on the partition while he fingered you until you came silently and slumped beside him into the leather seat.

 

When you got to his room, you told him that you had no chance of getting pregnant and were negative for all STIs. He was thoughtful before nodding and kissing you stupid, carrying you to the bed to strip you of every piece of fabric and your invisible guard.

 

He holds your face in his hands, kissing deeply, as he grinds and rubs against you, spreading wet from his tip along the outside of your folds. One of your hands grips the outside of his thick bicep, splaying against the dark ink, and his kiss speeds up. You reach between your bodies and grip his cock in your hand, rubbing the head along your wet slit a few times, and you both moan. He bucks into your hand and drops his forehead to yours, your breath mingling as you guide him inside.

 

You rock your hips against him, bringing your legs around to hook at the ankles behind his back as he pushes himself up onto his hands and wide spread knees. He sways his hips and kisses you, working his way inside and the slow stretch is delicious.

 

“God, you feel _so_ good,” you breathe, luxuriating in the push and pull of every inch of him inside you. He’s kissing your neck and the rasping of his beard against your skin pushes you into a malaise of sensation, mingled with the sight and sound and smell of him, the ripple of muscle under your fingers as he leisurely thrusts into you, and the taste of his salty skin as you lick his neck.

 

“I wanna feel you come,” he says, rising to his knees again, dragging your hips into his lap. He grips you and moves you, changing the angle from a lazy slide to something more urgent. “And see you. Hold on.” One hand moves to where you’re joined and his grip on your hip tightens.

 

His expression is one of indulgence and single-mindedness, brow furled and mouth agape, as he focuses on where he’s sliding in and out of you. He licks his lips, catching his bottom lip with his teeth as he presses two fingers over your clit. It’s like his hand is floating over you, willing you to come again, his thrusts shallow and intense, working that spot until you’re coming, loud and long, chanting his name.

 

His eyes are alight and glazed at the same time, awe and need. He settles you to the bed, gently pulls out, running his hands over your ribcage, hunger taking over his gaze. When his hands reach your hips, he pushes and pulls. “Roll over,” he says, and you do. “On your knees.”

 

You push yourself up and he’s behind you in a second, wet, warm fingers brushing your hips then guiding himself inside. It takes him a minute to find the rhythm he wants and every thrust hits you differently – deep, hard, angled – all good and you fall to your forearms, arching your back for him.

 

“There it is,” he groans, sliding a hand from your tailbone up to grip your neck and pushing until your face is buried in the pillow. He holds you in place and hits his stride, hard, deep, and breathtaking. Every time he snaps and bottoms out, your breath leaves you. Your hands scramble for purchase and he reaches for one, pinning it to the small of your back. You offer the other and he holds them both, keeping your shoulders pinned with his other hand.

 

“See if you can come like this,” he says, gripping you tighter. You don’t much care whether you do or not. He’s been more than generous and it’s his turn; but the mere speculation and the way he’s controlling your body are scintillating. His words and actions send a spark from your chest to your cunt and you clench around him. “I bet you can.”

 

You sob into the pillows on your fourth orgasm since you climbed into the town car, and you feel his thrusts stutter. He whispers something indecipherable as he comes, his fingers leaving an indelible mark on your skin.

 

Your bodies separate and you each collapse to the mattress, panting and staring at the ceiling. After a few quiet moments, he asks, “You hungry?”

 

He orders room service and you head to the bathroom for a shower. The hot spray of water makes you groggy and your muscles and joints are loose from him working you over. As you’re toweling off and sliding into the soft, thick hotel robe, you hear a knock at the door. You stay in the bathroom, combing your fingers through your wet hair, listening as he opens the door and lets the room service employee inside. When you finally hear the door shut, you exit the bathroom.

 

He’s wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants and appears to have raided the mini-bar. “Looks good,” you say, picking up a piece of fried calamari and popping it in your mouth.

 

“Yeah, it does,” he says and you catch his suggestive gaze as he sips his beer, paying zero attention to the food.

 

You eat, chatting amicably, he flirts and you politely deflect. You have to leave before the sun actually rises. That’s your number one rule and you told him that before you even let him kiss you.

 

You finish your beer and scan the room. “Where’re my clothes?” you ask, just now noticing that he tidied the room while you were in the shower.

 

“Closet,” he answers with a mouth full of hummus and yet somehow remaining entirely fuckable.

 

You shake your head and move to the closet then duck into the bathroom to dress, feeling used and sated in the way you hoped for. You blast your hair dry and pull the sides back with the spare hair tie you carry in your bag before leaving the bathroom for the last time.

 

He’s standing in the hallway just outside the bathroom, arms crossed over his chest. “Headed out, I guess,” he says and you nod. He nods and pushes away from the wall, grips the back of your neck much more gently than he had 30-minutes before and brushes his thumb along the column before dipping to kiss your forehead.

 

You lean into his warm lips and sigh, pressing a kiss of your own to his collarbone. “Thank you,” you mutter and you hear a small chuckle. You step back and take one last look into his eyes, daring you to stay, before turning and walking the rest of the way to the door.

 

He doesn’t say a word but you can feel his eyes on you as you pull the door open and let it shut it behind you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to my soulmate Glass Jacket.


End file.
